To get a submission printed in this issue,
four of the six people at the right had to vote
for acceptance. For the award winners, only
John Stobart is responsible.
TAue op ctm&m
Jdfhn Q. Public
Lynne M. Gloeckner
John Q. Public
Lynne M. Gloeckner
John Q. Public
Lynne M. Gloeckner
John Q. Public
John Q. Public
JuCo Girls ;
A Ridiculous Circus
I'm No DancertT^Kt
The Caused f Ilizolot
Should f ve Learned
FPsycho-Analysis. . . .
Waste World . . .....
A Ray of Hope ......... k
Excuses Vs . Fact .......... 5
r - ac xng ............a............... v. <•«.. o
Eight Xs Not Enough. ...*,....,... 6
I Am A Test-Tube Baby 6
The Little Pinko ■ . . . . . ..... 6
Little Boy Blue ,....* ..... 9
Brian ' s Song ........ 9
Not My Bag 9
Day ' s End 10
Still The Morning Is Much Too Far . . . . 10
Dreaming Awake ........................... 10
Mr . Moon Man 10
internment ••».<&.■»» ...«*«..........« . . • . iu
Something Peaceful ,.....< 11
Necropolis. ;....-. .'.v. ;....... .11
j. GXj.ri-uH5iX S»*a»!i,»e«a<ifl««*«t»t«iii««v«!««e««* J. !
Expunge Obfuscat ion .11
Trips ............. 12
Convergence '....,.,„... 12
Magnetics .'.' ........... . . .12
God ' s Favorite Colors ". ' . . , ". ..... 12
Panning For Gold 13
Eating Red Beans And Rice On Monday , ....13
Your Teenage Daughter ...... 13
Theti Chi (Date A Guy): Fraternity Men 13
The Party. *■.■..•.■.......,,..... lU
The Hunter /Priestess Relationship. .,..,. ...... 1^4
What This Aint « 15
Think Of Me. '. , . ... .15
Writing Bummed 15
Titus The Titanic 15
Life In A Glass 17
Life Can Be Likened to a Garment .17
Great Gift .17
Baby Look Into My Eyes ......... 18
Do You Remember When We Were Together , . . . 18 '
There's This Dude 16
Resxlesg r -,Lover , . . . 18
nseparabill^Qompanion 18 j
alk With Me.7>. . . .19
Marriage ....... .\ ♦ . . . . , 19
I Like To Think of \ Myself.
High heels and tight jeans, hair and collars up.
Chests out, tummies in, always shake the "butt.
Bright earrings, shiny belts, coordinated suits.
Gold chains, heavy makeup, knee-high go-go boots.
Walk the halls, strut your stuff, never saying hi.
I'd really like to talk but you just keep on walking by.
You can arrest me
A RIDICULOUS CIRCUS
Jumping up and down with glee
The elephant lost his cool
An ice cream cone stuck on his knee
Then flipped up to the top of his stool.
The circus band played Christmas carols
The ringmaster stood on his head
No jlown was silly or smiling at all
And popcorn was green and red.
"What a trick!" said the trainer
"You're one in a million"
When the nonkey
Stood on his nose.
"It's nothing," he said
As he slipped off his clothes
And brushed his teeth
With the tip of his toes.
John Q. Public
Strobe lights glisten
On my empty beer bottles
Dande floor is hot
But my willpower is not
I need something to respond inside
A reason to act
Because it sure would hurt me
To watche that robot with the hair
v Dance right over my pride
My baby, the one I just met
ts scoping and measuring the floor
Wondering if thers is room for her
In the swarm
Whatever I say will have to wait
Her thoughts are of motion
And if I think about it too much
My beer will be warm
Maybe I just don't belong out here
Because I'm no dancer
I'm more of a backstreet prancer
And I'll take ray chances
As the music changes
And the crowd rearranges
I'll hit that floor
After I down a few more
AT thought it may be head first
The smiling faces are just a blur
I thin my wallet to find the cure
Atmosphere is one of confusion
I think of where I'd rather be
Stranger on the floor
She's picturing me next to her
Danger in the form of another pitcher
I'm weaving for the back door
Even thought my cowboy boots are clean
I just can't seem to dig this scene
There's my ex-girl, the one I met
Before someone put a token
In the smoke machine
She's not alone
The music is fast but they are dancing slow
A dance floor dyke with perfect hair
Could I approach her
Or would I be looking for trouble?
Someone calls my name, awake in a sweat
It ' s so hard for me to remember
When all I can do is forget
And it's not the last time I've lost my way
A dancer I may not be but I'm looking for
And you can find me there every Daturday
THE CAUSE OF ILIZOLOT GOODOER
"exceptional citizens, exceptional cause.
Together we will find a way to right the
night ,>undo the done, save those who
need i^ and* those who don't. Recruit *
those who don't k n ow they don't know
and purge the world of those that know
they don't know. There is apple pie in
an octagon cosmos and we will find it.
The way out. Tunnelvision in cinemascope'
We'll "be the stars of the show,"
expounds the spittle-mouthed pulpiteer.
"Hoorah, hoopla, ra-ra-ra,"
whoops the eager mob.
A trenchnouth soothsayer bangs up the hand.
Spaghetti-confetti flitter and fly
vill all the pop-gu-i trimmings.
Everyone dances the rhumba.
Simmering, thickening the preposterous plot,
abscessed ends, veiled by a shroud
~ of good intention.
Ke stirs and strews
to spoon-feed those who eat spinach, liver
and unleavened bread.
Illusion, delusion, chameleon ideals
\ fetched from farther fetched than fantasy.
They will swallow-gulp it whole.
He knows andf licks his chops.
This self. JL ■ .4 - . ,. #
Slips behincrthe mask of inspiration
straddles a sleeP -strong virtue-fed stallion
and thunders through their braincoils.
,Ear to ear shouting, "God save us all."
Sitting slack astride the steed
He coolly views the clientele.
., The time is right for gumbo and bitters.
"He coyly slides off virtue.
The believers stare in awed silence.
His self-styled gold-leafed face
fixed firmly with a plasticine smile.
matter of factly commands
to the matters of fact.
that will become
matter of fact.
The Alaskan winter creeps into damp
clot he Sv
that can't repel the smell of smoke
from the cigarette-smoker, who
leans on his machiiae.
The tinny clatter of metal snaps
on the side of the dryer, keeps
disjointed time to the country music,
except in base keys.
Over the machines,
which solidly sit, churning inside,
loads of weighty dampness.
A far-way friend, comes to mind.
Unwritten thoughts, edged with loneli-
ness, are inaudibly mumbled, next to
spinning washers, and tumbling dryers
that can't churn away the blues.
Rereminded of life's condition 5 and
pitying the friend,
the blues m . m
any worse —
who can't have
Hush your voice and turn up
Close the windows and pull the
shades, we must'nt let the
They're all listening, you know 3
hoping to get an earful of dirty
laundry to hang on the line
along with their own.
*t* r '
A synapse lapse
v or c hemic a- impropriety —
something firing wrong
we cannot say for certain.
Could he hormones
jangled or lacking or oversupplied,
In any event
the behavior is off-center,
a little awry —
N astray, shall we say.
A pity for sure
in one so young.
Not a tregedy though —
these things can be fixed . . .
unless they get worse.
The little neighbor boys are playing
amy again. I can hear their imaginary
bombs exploding and their vocalized
machine guns killing each other. They
each fall to the ground, barelv escaping
the enemies' bullets.
Aren't we all fighting a war? Our
cold stares pierce like daggers, our dead
silences deafen like the explosion cf
bombs. We shine our shoes often,
keeping up a false front for all the
world to inspect.
Won't someone call a cease to the
firing so that we may stop
killing each other with our minis?
I SHOULD 'VE LEARNED
I should 've learned my lesson long ago
I should' ve learned then, but now I know
l ain't gonna fall in love no more
I won't be hurt like I was before
I didn't know then, but I do know now
And I won't let it happen, no way, no how
You promised me everything
You promise it all
It sounds good, baby
But I ain't gonna fall.
You say so mu§^
°-nd it sounds so fine
But how can I be sure
That you'll really be mine
I've been hurt so many times before
So I've made up my mind
I'll hold on to my heart no matter what.
No, I won't be hurt this time.
A beer for me.
A bong for you.
We're both messed up.
We love it, too.
It * s so much fun
to be a drunk
*0 smoke a bud
or snort a lump.
So shoot me up,
cut me a line,
get me a beer,
I feel fine.
All I said was, sometimes I was
afraid the furnace would explode. And
that worry kept me awake, while the
too-few hours allotted for sleep quickly
evaporated. She didn't wince, or chuckle,
or anything; she only asked if that was
all. I told her no ... it wasn't.
She stared and waited. I squirmed inside,
not wanting to tell the worst. So I said,
sometimes I was afraid that someone would
break in and beat me to a pulp — if I was
lucky. She didn't react, but asked again
if that was all. Too hastily, I said no,
knowing I would have to tell the v *st —
would have to tell that too-absurd fear,
the one that kept my back to the wall
night after night, the one that kept
waking me every time I heard a floorboard
creak, the one that was too crazy. She
stared and waited. I said it was really
stupid. She waited. So I said, giggling,
that sometimes I was afraid that someone
in my family would suddenly crack in the
middle of the night and decide to hack me
to pieces with an ax — like Lizzie Borden,
don't you know . . . giggle. Her control
was amazing — I wondered if Laurel and
Hardy could break her. "Anxiety," she
said. "I have Just the thing," she said,
reaching into a desk drawer.
"How do you feel?" she asked later.
I was coming out a molasses fog, brc m and
sweet. "Uh . . . ," I managed, sug-.r-eyed ,
cotton-tongued. She handed me a glr >s of
water. I said, in a grogfog, "That hammer
did the trick all ri.Tht."
I'm gonna waste
my life away.
I'm n;onnn get
'i aoed up all d°v.
Lynne M. Gloeckner
A RAY OF HOPE
Those first few mo-ths were really
tough. My newborn daughter seemed so
helpless and fragile and already ray
spastic lings were beginning to show signs
of fatigue. As I woul I fu r ible with her
diapers pins, I wondered if she could
somehow sense my lack of coordination.
Did she miss the warmth and safety of my
arms when I had to put her into her bas-
sinette to taxi her around the house?
The answer came one early morning as
she burrowed down into my arms to nurse
and I saw that secret smile and the know-
ing touch of her little hand on mine.
Those little hands kept my fumbling
hands very busy indeed! Each new day
brought new challenges to face. And each
day brcu^ht Kerry, my little daughter, new
x ^and exciting things to explore.
Although Kerry's littl^ world was
bran.i new to her, challenge was not a new
concept to me. Since birth I had had to
cope with cerebral palsy. Cerebral palsy
is a brain injury that can leave its vic-
tim with a wide variety of disabilities.
I felt fortunate it had only endowed
me with a minimal speech defect and
x -slight coordination problems. Luckily
it had also given me the guts and spunk to
pursue a normal life.
My brain may have been damaged so that
my walking and speech were labored, but
my heart and mind were alive and well.
Like most women, I wanted a home and
children. I was ready and willing to find
ways to safely and wisely raise a child.
On November 26, 1972, my d r eam came
£rue. I gave natural birth to a 5-pound,
1^-ounce baby girl. The challenge had
Kerry was a beautiful, bouncing,
healthy child. Each day that I cared for
her needs held a new possibility for
growth and achievement for me. Just
walking into her room was sunshine on the
darkest winter morning. She seemed to
radiate enthusiasm for getting the day
Little did she know how difficult
the "tiny buttons and snaps cou^" 1 - be. As
I ^oald slowly dress her, she would be-
come impatient and begin to rcll over or
kick. It was then that I would begin all
the nursery rhymes that we had practiced
fer ently. First she would coo and bab-
ble with me. Later she would pick out her
favorite sounds and make them along with
me. Soon we had accomplished not only the
tiniest of buttons, but she had learned
more sounds and a sense of rhythm. It
aiso helped when I purchased diapers
As soon as Kerry could crawl, she
would be placed on the warm rug to make
her way into the kitchen for breakfast.
I would go on ahead of her, talkirr- and *
singin/x to her continously. This way
she would know that I was still with
her and very much a part of her Utile
I tried to Scarry her as lit le as
possible for fear that I might stumble
with her in my arms. As she followed ny
voice, I would carefully prepare her
breakfast so that she could be reward-
ed for her efforts.
Once I had placed Kerry in her high
chair, we had a big job ahead of us. My
spasticity caused my arms to jerk at
times, so that catching the spoon to get
a bite to eat was a challenge in itself »
Thank God for infa-feeders. But eight
years ago, it was the old spoon anc dish
method for us. Many a day we both wore
towels around our necks, but Kerr ir never
left the chair hungry. If my arm culdn't
find its way to my little girl's nou^h,
my little girl's mouth became very adept
at finding her way to the spoon.
The days were exciting! At times I
would fall into bed totally exhausted
from following her around. But the sense
of satisfaction I received was what kept
me going. As my^* daughter learne- r to
crawl and later on to walk, I felt as
if I were learning to experience thase
joys all over again.
Since my own speech was slurred, I
was overjoyed when I could teach her to
say words and later phrases with clarity.
When she walked straight and tall without
bumping into walls or falling ^"^ on
her face or bottom, I felt as if I were
taking those straight and unlabored
steps right with her.
And she grew and one day began to
run, I could feel my heart welling up and
bursting with excitement. Oh, how I had
wanted to run as a child! Now a part of
me was running and hopping, skippi"~ n »ad
And she grew! She ran °- n "'- she jumped
and she went off to school. It wae then
that the true test of love ani under stand-
ing took place. Her secret smile and the
knowing touch of her hand were no long-
er easy to come by. Kerry and I had to
face up to the fact that as a preschool-
er Kerry had accepted me on blind faith.
Kerry had just assumed that all mom-
mies fumble with the buttons on the back
of your dress and that all mommies have
trouble putting braids into your hair.
She must have closed her eyes to trie phy-
sical differences between other mothers
and her ~ vn -
My heart broke the day she returned
from first grade to announce that se-eral
of her classmates had told her mom v..s
"different". Her eyes had been opened!
A Ray of Hope, continued
I knew how cruel children could "be and had
heard their hurtful remarks as a child.
I had attended school with nornal child-
ren and had learned to deal with all
their probing questions and stares. I
was well aware of the openness and
frankness with which children Kerry's
age speak. It had not occurred to me
that riy own child, who was nornal,
would also have this to contend with.
I wanted to keep my child from this
hurt, but I knew I could not. I only
hoped that I had given her the character
and inner resources to be open and honest
about ny disability and not taker her
peers' inquisitiveness personally.
Those were rough tines. Kerry cried
her way through first grade. And so did
I. The first two years of school were
very difficult for both of us. Luckily
ny little girld was very bright. The
inner turmoils which was in her little
heart did not affect her mental ability
to do we-1 in school. Many a night we
would cuddle up together on her bed and
discuss something that had been said by
/ When these remarks first began, my
daughter rejected the idea that there
could be any truth to what was being
said. It was almost as if she had in
her own mind measured things out and put
me on an even keel. with everyone else.
She would turn angry if anyone even sug-
gested that her mother "walked funny"
or could not be easily understood. My
heart ached for her but I could not
change the facts. At times I even won-
dered if I had been fair to my child to
place her in this predicament.
I found myself feeling rejected as
I had as a child the day Kerry announced
that she didn't want me to accompany her
class on an outing., I ■ knew why.
The following year saw great change
in both of us. Kerry seemed to have
Rrown an invisible coat of armor. Sud-
denly we always had a houseful of Ker-
ry's friends. She seemed to bring them
in droves to meet her mother. She-
seemed t:> need to make a ooint of say-
ing things like, "This is my Mom. She
can't help that she doesn't walk like
Kerry was constantly defending ne
or perhaps apologizing that things
weren't quite right. Usua-ly the child-
ren would ask more questions and I
found myself the topic of many after-
school snack sessions ri?n;ht in ny own
kitchen. As a handicapped mom I found
all the extra attention rather disturb-
ing at first. I had never had to talk
about my disability in such minute de-
tail. I found that as I talked openly
and honestly with these children about
myself I, too, gained an awareness and
understanding of the whys and wherefores
of the things I do. I also learned that
children can appreciate another's hard-
ships and courage if only they are aware
Now Kerry is almost eight. She no
longer needs that coat of armor. She is
no longer my defense lawyer. Kerry has
put things into perspective. Her
young years as a child of a handicapped
parent have made her aware that there
are wide differences in people. Perhaps
she is a bit more caring than a c". 'Id of
her young ate should be. Kerry will find
good in everyone.
But I can't help but think that I
am on the road to success as I heir my
beautiful daughter bound in after school
saying, "This is my mom. She's handi-
capped but doesn't she do a Treat job?"
and, "Oh yes, that's my little baby
EXCUSES VS FACT
Ordinarily it wouldn't have happened
But the booze went to ny head
I lost ny inhibitions
And I wouM up in your bed
You looked into ny eyes
And lit ny body's fire
Pressed your lips to nine
And made me weak with desire
Ordinarily it wouldn't have happened
But ny head just wasn't ri^ht
And when you nade your nove on ne
I had no strength to fight
My body screaned yes
Though my lips were saying n^
I didn't want to argue
So I let ny emotions ^
Or linnrily it wouldn't have happened
But the nartinis blew ay nind
I needed soneone to hold ne
And you were nil I could find
You put your ams across rxy shoulders
And as I gazed into your face
My topsy-turvy world
Tunbled into olace
It would have happened anyway
Since I've loved you for so 1 >ng
; \nd any protest I nay have nade
Wouldn't have been too strong
So I'll .<rive you no nore excuses
I'll tell you no nore lies
My heart be can to nelt
Whr;-i I looked into y^ur oyer
H X V X X X X X
John Q. Public
Unhurriedly, a seed grows within:
Outside forces move at breakneck speed,
While intolerable pressures build.
A ruling ambiguity prevails, accelerating
to nowhere. £
Esotional roughness exceeds the limits;
Peacefully, emergence begins.
Altered states conflict, threatening
mutual burnout —
Harried, frantic attempts to balance only
Still, calmly, I grow, adapt, and awaken.
Detachment is my sead coat, bursting,
Soon to be thrown aside,
In favor of loving interaction.
A new perspective of unhurried, yet
Has entered my awareness.
Massive, unponderous abilities at last
Becoming outwardly fulfilled,
Even as new talents are fostered.
My resolution from chaos proceeds apace,
Fuelel by my essence.
A new mother
soft and small .
I stand in a cave in France
studying a prehistoric man,
his fingers outlined on the wall
five to a hand
My soul contracts, shudders
silently gives birth,
as daylight sings a lullabye
and mother counts my toes.
EIGHT IS NOT ENOUGH
Let me sleep,
Let ne sleep
My *Lif e away.
I know that perhaps
I could change the world,
But I live for my sleep
Each and every day.
Keeping late hours,
Propping up the bar,
I feel spiritual
Taking life away w/my car.
Sooner or later
I must pay once more,,
For the good times
And for being so bored.
So let me sleep,
let me sleep.
Life will r-o on without my contribution
Wake me*after the next revolution.
I must look to the future,
I must be rested
To stay up through these
With enough sleep
I may change my ways . . .
I AM A TEST-TUBE BABY
I am a test-tube baby
My mother was a slide
My life was made significant
— I never even tried*
My mother's name was Pyrex
My father's — Mr. Hyde
My lun-s vere filled at first breath
with the smell of formaldehyde.
Dr. Jeckel was the scientist
His work we all acclaim
I'm jus^ a test-tube baby
It's my only claim to fame!
Shuffling over the rough terrain
of the rug, the soldier is alert and
ever-thinking as he scans his goal.
Standing in front of a row of shelves
he ponders his way to the top. After
taking his rope out he makes a grest
strike with it onto a bookend high a-
bove. In complete guerrila fashion
he- ascends the twine escalator to the
second shelf. There, with nothing but
a straight vertical climb facing him,
he dons a quartet of suction cu-s and
quickly straps them on. His spider-like
movements are impeccable as he scales
the wall toward his lof^y lestination.
Once on the top shelf the suction cu^s
go and the rifle appears. He stalks
with great determination to the natter
at hand. Approaching the blimp he is
cau'iht off-Tuard as the booming of
The Little Pinko, continued
heavy footsteps send Iiii- scurrying past
the stereo to his passe "e downward. The
sprint is in vain as a massive, cal-
-used hand snatches hin viciously.
"Well, I'll he dannedl!" says the
fat nan. "If it ain't a tiny man!"
The soldier's grave attempt at
e. cape is worthless as the clutches
grow tighter around his body. Swing-
ing through the air in the hand causes
him to lose all direction as he is
brought into another room. Voices
pound his ears: "I don't believe it!"
exclaims the fat man's friend.
"Ain't he something! I caught him
up on the shelves! Think he was — "
"Don't you know what you're holding?"
blurts the friend. "He's one of those
s-o.ciol T-n Secret Projects that Russia's
been working on!"
"A ^hat?" as fc s the fat man.
"Yes! Yes! He's one of the tiny
people they're shooting ever. They pack
them in these little capsules and send
them over! It's called 'crawl-out.' The
Feds have been on to it for awhile but
none have actually turned up — at least
none that I've heard of."
"Crawl-out? Jesus, that's incredi-
ble!" He holds the soldier up to his
f;a.ce in total bewilderment. The tiny
man amazes him. He trie g to squirm
. free to no avail.
"Is he human, though?! asks the
"From what I heard, yes — well, at
le"-st he is for the most part."
/ "But how in the hell do—"
/ "They've been doing research on
/genetics for years. Lately they've tied
their findings in with test-tube babies
and stuff like that. T-'ey've come up
with some astonishing discoveries,"
the f riend explained. "By isolating and
manipulating the genes they can pro-
duce any kind of person they want."
"Well, I'll be damned," says the
fat man, shaking his head as he watches
the soldier's continued attempts at es-
"You wouldn't belive what they can
do to them," continued the friend.
/'They control their brains, too. They
don't even need to brainwash then. They
just sort of 'program' the genes and
they'll act however the commies want
"It's like goddamn human robots!
Those bastard Communists! They're
worse than I u " u liU " When you start
to tamper with humans — well, that's
going too far!" cries the fat nan,
anger rising. The soldier is still now
as the fat man's anger has tightened his
"See," goes the friend, "you're
squashing him up now, but that son-of-
a-bitch is probably made to never give
up or slow down or anything."
"And what about 'capsules'?"
"Right. They send them over in
capsules. I think it's about 50 at a
"But they're so small," says the
fat man, staring at the tiny nan.
"What the hell good are they?"
"I guess they're spies. They
can't be much good in the combat sense.
This one was looking at the technolo-
gy of your model Blimp, p r obablv.
They 1 re after any information they can
get. You know those damn Communists,"
"You're right about that!" yells
the fat man, again beginning to fume.
"And I hate 'em! They've gone too
damn far!" As he yells, he shakes
the soldi ~ r wildly.
"Hey, easy! Let's bring him to
our scienti s ts and see what they can do
with him. Maybe they'll learn—"
"The hell we will! This ain't
ri^ht! This one dies!" His look is
crazed as he storms out of the room.
./"Where are you going? Come back
"They've gone too far," he screams.
"I don't like nosy Commies running
around my house!" He h^ads down the
basement stairs as his friend follows
"What are you gonna do? I think
you're going too far!"
"I'm going as far as it takes to
kill this — this — thing! TUis doesn't
belong in this world! This is a freak-
a freak of science!"
"So what's your plan?" asks the
"How 'bout a bar-b-que!! . I think
I'll fry him right up."
Standing at his work bench, he lo-
cates thin wire in the bottom drawer.
He takes it with his free hand an i
hands it to his friend. "Here. Cut
up some pieces to tie him up. with.'
He holds the bug-eyed sol: 1 .! or to
his face and blows directly at him.
"Jesus. You'll kill him with your
breath alone ! You and your damn garlic
"Yea," laughs the fat man. "Look
at his eyes water!"
"Here you go," says the friend
after cutting the wires.
"Ok," says the fat man. "I'll
hold him and you tie his arms and legs.'
The fat man, while trying to move
the soldier to the other hand, changes
his grip. Preying on his only chance,
the tiny Communist struggles away fron
under the fingers and flops like a fish
on land. ■. THe massive hands aro unable
to mainta 1 n their hold as the s Idler
drops to the bench.
"Son of a 'i4ch!" screams f fat
nan. "Get him!" Flaying forerv ia
grab nothing but air as the min-ature
connando skirts to the ed.ee. Without
hesitation he leaps onto the ~u tv ce-
nent floor, tumbling as he Brakes contac -1
The Little Pinko, continued
He sprints wildly along the wall board
like a rat until a huge set of pliers
crash into the wall in front of him.
"Oohh!" grunts the fat nan. "I damn
near got him there!" He heads for the
soldier, who has switched 'direction.
The movement of his legs is like that of
a cartoon character.
"Jesus, he's quick!" exclaims the
"I'll get him here," says the
friend as he grabs an old paint can. In
a few fast leaps he nears the soldier
and slams the empty can over him. A
shower of dried paint casdadcs down on
"Good job," says the fat man. "We
nearly lost him there. Get some card-
board." They slide a torn bear flat
under the can, trapping the soldier. To-
gether they carry the can to the woik
bench, preparing each other for the next
step. "Now be careful when you turn it
over . "
"Keep that cardboard on there
tight." They execute the move expertly.
"OK, pull her up," says the man with
the massive, callused hand. "He can't
climb out of here."
As the cardboard is removed, the
speckled-white soldier .jumps and jum"ns
to reach the top. He cannot, but he
keeps on trying.
"Hey 'Uster Crawl-Out!" taunts
^the fat man,. "Why aren't you crawl-
in^ out now?"
"I'll go get some thread," says his
friend. "We can tie him easier with
that." He exits. The fat man contin-
ues to taunt the Communist.
"Hey, you're all dirty, stupid I
Want me to clean you?" He promptly
spits at the sprawling soldier. The
spit misses but the fat man goes on.
"You're gonna be ;ri. shing that
hit you — even if it does smell like
garlic! You're gonna fry soon, Commie,
just like my omelettes!"
The friend returns and quickly cuts
and ties three lassoes.
"Here," he instructs, "one for each
\hand and the other around his legs.
Let me get him this time." He reaches
in and firmly grabs the soldier, making
sure the legs are straight so the bind-
ing will be easy.
''Hold still," says the fat man.
"I'll get the legs." Unable to kick,
the soldier is at last helpless as the
black thread tightens around his combat
boots. The hands, though, are harder
to bind. The soldier stubbornly keeps
his arms at his sides and holds them
tliere tightly. The fat man's fingers
poked and grabbed at the arms until he
finally broke the grip. They quickly
placed the string around the tiny wrist
and tugged. After securing the other arm
tie same way, they took more thread and
bound the wrists together.
"I'll finish him up," the fat
man said, "You rret some sticks and
leaves — and get my lighter too." His
friend exits again as the fat man con-
tinues the binding process, enjoying
every minute of it. He sat the
bound soldier on the bench and placed
an old jar of screws a/rainst his back
to make him sit up. Another thread
is tied from the neck to the angles,
making him sit ur> in an L-positi^n.
He pulls the serew jar away t: s:-e his
fin 1 shed worX
"Well, aren't you sitting pretty!
You'll have a nice seat on the- wall
soon." His friend returns anA begins
to build the fire along the wallboard.
He adds dry leaves and twi^.s until a
nice pile is standing.
"Good, good," says the fat man.
"Throw a little of that whiskey on
With the fire ready to go, the fat
man pounds an aluminum nail into the
wall above the fire. He ties the
soldier's arm strings onto it. The
soldier hanps against the wall. His
legs are perpendicular to it as the
fat man exalts. "We're all set! Gim-
me the lighter." Taking it, he
proudly proclaims, "Here's to the
Russians," and lights the alcohol-
soaked wood. The twigs catch fira rap-
idly and risin" flames begin to lick
away at th* bottom of the Communist's
legs. His eyes bulge as he helplessly
"Hey-hey! Look at hin go!" wails
the- fat man triumphantly. "Take those
American flames right where it hurts!"
Gray, stinking, toxic smoke fills
the air as his buttocks and legs burn
"Wow," says the friend, "that
smoke really stinks!"
"Whaddaya expect? He's a damn
The soldier continues to KPurn as
toxic smoke fills the air. The charred
and mangled remains drip off the wall
into a pile of cooked humanity.
"That ' s worse than your garlic !
That's terrible!" says the friend, eyes
water in •.
The fat nan's smile begins to
fade while the soldier's torse skin
curls and tiny major organs melt away.
The men cough and gasp as they watch
the flames do their work. Out of the
corner of his eyes, the fat man sees
his friend collapse to the ground.
But he is unable to do anything as he
himself blacks out and falls forward.
His forehead smacks face down on the
dusty cement floor and the massive,
callused hand drops helplessly into
the flames . . .
Lynne M. Gloeckner
John Q. Public
LITTLE BOY BLUE
He was just a 'blue-blanketed bundle when
brought hin to me. A face of a china
doll that squinted and winced and screwed
itself up when introduced to the protruding
rosebud of nourishment.
Little pools of chocolate nelted my heart
r ' 3 . I welcomed my first son into ny life.
His soft hand carressed my body as my mind
conjured up images of baseballs, toads and
leather jackets. "A boy! Tough as nails
and full of the devil." Isn't that what
Somehow the promise of manhood seems to be
an unfathomable notion. My son nestles
down and gives a silly grin as he burps
with drunkenness while grasping my little
finger for security. I try to envision the
day when I will be looking up at him. May-
be looking for the protect iveness whicb hi
Perhaps it is these tender moments between
a mother and her infant son that makes the
bulking size of a grown man so virile.
Thumb s -Up /Det erminat ion
H '"ir /Headbands
Three piece suit /Record exec,
Pure 1 " noise
A Blonde /A mistake!
No sale potential
A new guitar star
On the way. . .
Melody, harmony, rhythm
Doth not m^sic make
The inner soul must enter
To make it soar
The artist paints a mood
X A picture, a feeling
The r. -loiy is the basket he rides
On his way to ecstacy
The harmony is its roots
Its foundation, its core
The rhythm is its movement
The tempo its clock
The soul is within the artist
Who translates the elements to bliss
NOT MY BAG
Why don't flowers bloom in my garden?
Why do all my plants die?
I give them all the water they need
and all the sun from the sky
but all my ro Ses wilt
and all my daisies brown.
They start up with a smile
but always die a frown.
I guess I'm not a garl'nir.
My thumb just isn't green.
The flowerbed is emnty
the crop yield very lean.
But I don't five un easy
though the seasons have been hard.
Someday I'm gonna cultivate
a treasure in my yard.
It's gonna be fantastic.
A giant redwood tree
najesti c , green, and tower feg
for everyone to see.
And when it ' s finally standing there
I'll relish in its shade
and give myself a pat on the back
for the wonderful thinn: I've made.
STILL THE MORNING IS MUCH TOO PAH
Pick me up, put ne down. Hold ne though,
Take away my tiredness. Quell ny achey
* -■■* ,f " # '
Enfold ne in your arns with a gentle hug.
Push away the weariness. Remove thoughts
p ^ 2 -- 3.elf-pity out of ny touch.
Just hold on to ne some nore.
rest ne there.
Feet curled under blankets
toes grazing your legs.
.You pull away ,
*fron the cold ifchrun
turn over and over.
hide ne there
in the warn irritation
of wake-up . . .
I'm afraid in this dark roon,
I se*e 'thru ne-coloreJ glasses*
As you will see for thee.
Reality is perspective
Built of our point ov view.
I send forth ny ideals
Which rr^le an open surface,
Interpreted by your deeps.
My perceptions of not-ne
Affect ny thoughts of self,
Even as I create. then |
To work within ny realn.
Your own concepts aally forth,
And interact with nine;
Yet no true perspective can
Show then to be the sane.
Only by nerving, retaining the carryover,
Shall we semantic ally agree.
Diversely different as snowf lakes,
Definitely divine, we all
Create reality, as forces of will combine.
a "what now ,T —
not a question.
nothing . . .
. j?ull up* the cqvers . „ . .. *
and drown in your safe slee^
while ny eyes
fight the night
MR; MOON MAN
Take ne into orbit with you
Share oxygen between us two
I wanna sail through a cloud
To get away from this loud crowd
Launch ne Mr. Moon Man
I've got the space nan craze
Let's ditch this nuclear age
See the lovely "planets around
How does kissing in space sound?
To Venus or Mars
Or one of thGse stars
Launch ne Mr. Moon Man
- ^, ■'*■ ■ - S 1? TV 7T 7P 7? 7T vT t - # - V*
A cold tombstone,
carved grs n ite lamb;
the head is gone,
A weathered picture
crumbled and decayed;
the babe's been at rest
for a hundred years today.
Swingin 1 on ny vine,
listening to the beat.
Groovin' to the jungle sound.
Stayin' off ray feet.
Keepin' cool beside a tree
Sucking coca leaves.
Tuning in to jungle jibe,
Jannin' on ny reed.
See the nonkeys on the branch
x the parrots in the sky.
Just can't get enough o& it
That nellow jungle high.
A flash of sunlight on ny face,
it's life without a care.
The jungle sound ^ces sliding by,
the breeze blows through ny hair.
Mellow is the nusic, yea,
inside ny jungle hut.
Nothing beats the buzz of
cool, femented coconut.
"And the gentle waves nove through ne,
They make ne so alive
Just livin' life the laid-back way
to easy jungle jibe.
Answer ny questions,
straightforward, if you please.
Relieve ne of all doubt,
set ny nind at ease.
Rub out ny queries,
don't make light just a tease.
Dr obfuscation will seize.
All Caesar ' s legions
trampled on our dust
building the roads over us
so that we, too, ni*ht know the way to
We did not follow their sandaled feet
to the Forun
but stayed to dance
on a flat fresco
of burnt red and dark-sun pignents
in a cool, silent tonb.
to labyrinthine corridors
attached like aphids to rose stens
as though the bloodstream halls
nourish its parasitic cubicles
and within the roons
yet other parasites —
stuck to beds
like suckers on a shark. ,
These, the least of brethren,
in varying states of decay
holding on for life
to silversleek starkwhite narvels
through the corridors
of phlegn and lost fluids
flushed into oblivion
until one day a door opens
into sunlight and the grave.
I take you
on. a sailboat
drifting on waters
of crys i<al blue
with pure white
in the warnth
of an endless sun
except the surf
and the soft caress
of the sea breeze
aJ r fresh and clean
of purest blue
watching the fluffy
nove slowly oast
as the boat
to the H llaby
of the sea
a foreign thought
that does not apply
as in a dream
I carry you away
Jo Anne Kaseno
Judy Bel field
Loud music from the speakers.
into a world of colors and
■ A sweet taste in my mouth.
I can smell
the dark brown
of his hair
the deep tones
of his voice.
of the walls
«*• on my back.
you and ne
shot through with silver glitterdust —
like nymphs in the wood
hand to hand
dancing over ferngrass
toward orange skyribbons
in a distant blue . . .
you and me
riddled with years of each other —
like canyon and river
the etching of our lives •
traveling down and down
to the center . . .
you and me closed over by time —
overwhelmed by the lord
forgotten under snow
in plowed- over crusty earth
the harvest long- since belched forth
and swallowed by hungry yesterdays. . .
■ ■ ■
It puzzled us all at the start of the scheme
Things as they are, are not as they seem.
Catch the tune of the infinite beat;
Follow it closely while moving your feet.
Humanity reaches across the Universe
The Universe is forever
reaching for Humanity
MTote the music inside your head —
Listen for l"ng and you'll not know you're dead.
Dance as you listen and start to sway;
Grope toward the light as they take you away.
You sit in your cell as the tune goes around;
Caught in its motion, you'll n^er be found.
Look In your whirlpool for traces of self,
Not even noting you were dumped on the shelf.
Check at the center for the presence of OM — -
I'aybe at last you've found your true home.
Move to the center to merge with the calm;
Successful arrival protects you from harm.
GOD'S FAVORITE COLORS
If the sky was made blue
It ' s God ! s favorite hue
And the grass had His choice
OF the color of green
He selected a yellow
For sun to be bright
So that all of the world
Could be seen in the light
With the brown of the earth
And the black of the trees
Then the flowers were made
With a violet .shade
Mixed with gold red and pink
And a lavender too
Navigate the hazards on your way to the node;
follow instructions and do as you're told.
Your destination is coming up soon —
Exclaim with surprise that you're back in the womb! All a rainbow of blends
Touched with silver of dew.
Abandon your body — mu c h is at stake;
Control of your new one you shortly must take.
Wipe clean the slate with extremely great skill —
Prepare for the new life you'll certainly feel.
Lynne M. Gloeckner
PANNING FOR GOLD
EATING RED BEANS AND RICE ON MONDAY
My mind pours over ny past like a musty
prospector panning for gold. It dra-Ts
over every memorable detail in search
of a shiny moment which night promise a
Th^ strean is k n ee deep. For ny tides
have hit the shores for many seasons.
The water is murky and one must be a pa-
tient sifter to prospect in these nuddy
waters. Many pebbles have been formed
in ny strean with the passing of tine.
A lifetine of renenbrances await the
silver nan's disturbance of their set
ways. With each dip, ny mind gently awa-
kens the rocking horse that was in ny nur- See the Mississippi drain
Eating red beans and rice on Monday •"
Drink a Dixie with a drunk
Pinch a tail. Suck a head
Eat lots of ^rench pastries
Ride in horse drawn coaches
Party at Loyola and Tulane
Head down the French Quarter way
See 25<£ peer> shows on Bourbon Street
Catching beads on Fat Tuesday
This port is no place for a nonk
See a shotgun shed
.Snell the nagnolia trees
Amazed by them k inch roaches?
sery, snells of Grandma's spice cookies,
and the feel of Daddy's lap when I was a
tot. This is the wealth that lies in my
Wading into shallow waters, I find gens
that have not yet been refined by the cur-
rents. The jagged memory of a first love,
the loss of a loved one to death, and other
recent adult memories have not had the ad-
vantage of the tides of tine. They have
not lost their jaggedness and rough spots
are painful to the sensitive mind.
Sone of ny precious metals are subnerged
deep in the sands and nust be dug up.
While others are sitting gently upon the
sand. They catch the glistening light
like the speckled salmon. Unlike the
prospector, ny nind has no need to trade
ray gems in for their ncnetary value. It
just holds then up to shine in the sun; to
toss them gently back into the waters
to be panned again another day.
Driving across the swamry causewav
listening to the Cajun beat.
YOUR TEENAGE DAUGHTER
Your teenage daughter
Just beginning to bloom
Will grow a fine lady
If you just give her room.
Give her your love
And your complete trust
She nay get hurt
But everyone must.
If you let her run her own life
She might get "horned,
But if you try and run it for her'
She'll never really learn.
THETA CHI (DATE A GUY): FRATERNITY MEN
Kiss me, kiss me, I love you,
And I know you love me too.
Hold me, hold me, tighter please,
I like being your riain squeeze.
Touch me, touch me . . . ecstasy,
nev2r cease to fondle me.
Fricki, fricki, oh so fine,
need I Tive another line?
Experience is the best teacher
But give her advice
And when she ' s
She knows you love her
You've already let her know-
Now just stand back
\id let her grow.
John Q. Public
Eyes glimmering w/sin
Waiting for our connection,
Our pass in.
Anticipating nothing, but "wishing for bli
Gliding past false bright sniles,
Silk and pre-fomed hair.
Teenage depression journeys on.
Death ganes played w/no awareness,
Can' freedom be* found *own thes'e
Barren alleys of oblivion we roan?
Glasses in their hands.
Glares in their eyes.
Music nasks the underlying meaning
Of existence at this place and time.
Reaching deep within one's soul,
Pleading w/others for approval.
Tine glides —
Sexual plots thicken,
B$th he and she acting out,
A role of self -inflated ego
M-aning and confusion
How can you do that?
Doesn't it destroy your mind?
How can you stand the thought
ss of killing your rnto kind?
Dump the bodies into plastic bags
Infested renains wrapped in old dishrags
Snash a corpse with rifle butts,
JDestroy ^ts rotting flesh and guts.
Tears roll from its cringing eyes
for it will never greet
another stinking sunrise
or smell garbage in the street!
Flying high in your aircraft
Dropping bombs on little kids
you murdering bastards
don't care what you did.
THE HUNTER /PRIESTESS RELATIONSHIP THROUGH THE AGES
Ritual and magic have played impor-
tant roles in daily life since the incep-
tion of culture. Costume has played a
crucial part in the actions which brought
desired elements of the supernatural under
. A particular case, of ,this, significance
was the choice of clothing hunters donned
\in preparation for the hunt. Brightly
colored beads, feathers and artistic daubs
j6t paint comprised a pattern which attract 55
/ ed game and protected the wearer from harm.
Women, too, dressed in suitable costume
and chanted while dancing or gesticulating.
Success in the hunt brought feasting and
ceremonial dances in gratitude to the mys-
terious forces of nature.
As time passed, cultural values became
more complicated and the forces were
anthroponorphised — the gods were born!
To appease this group of newborns, select
•members of the village grouped together
to make sense of the gods' capricious be-
havior. Thus was born the clergy (and,
Gradually, as one generation gave way
to the next, some of the mystery was taken
from the "forces," and the clergy found
themselves losing power. Another concur-
rent trend was the reduced need for many
hunters ranging over large territories due
to the advent of agriculture. This state
of affairs gave certain individuals a bit
of spare time; to counteract their bore-
dom, various hunters became competitive
amongst themselves. Since thesa contests
often led to death or crippling due to the
extreme violence involved, the village
priests met to discuss the situation.
From that meeting evolved a way to
greatly increase their ^ower while si-
multaneously ridding the tribe of its
undesirable elements. First, the cler-
gy designated the most aggressive group
of hunters to be members of a special
class whose purpose was the defense of
the village from* outside attack. As ^
symbols of this newly-conferred status,
a special costume was created.
The^ next step was to give the new
class a name — our equivalent of 'warrior'
Since a neighboring; village was sited
near a rich game trail, the clergey de-
cided to try to gain possession of it for
Accordingly, a special holy cere-
mony was held, during which the warriors
were given a message direct from the
gods (a priest pretending to be in a
trance j possessed) to attack the village
and take command. The feast lasted
long into the night.
At dawn, the band of eager hunters
began their trek, brimming over with the
god- 'iven directive to claim what was
rightfully theirs. When they arrived
at the enemy village, they attacked.
Screaming in unison, the soldiers effect-
ively destroyed the village. The surviv-
ing inhabitants were brought back to
serve as slaves and gradually merged vith
the other group.
Thousands of years passed, with
the warrior and clergy becoming ov-=r more
power ful'v'' Cities- grew, the gods were
merged, and once again a group of peo-
ple formed with some spare time. This
was happening in several city-states at
once, so an inter-city festival was held
to discuss the situation. From
The Hunter /Priestess Through The Ages, continued.
observing the activities of the group in
question, the i^sa of formalizing their :
ganes into a quasi-professional league
was expressed and acted upon. Thus was
Centuries passed, during which ath-
letes became more sophisticated, formal-
izing the rules, regulations and ethics
-, of sport. Through the superficial chang-
es, however, there still glimmered their
Coming into the late nineteenth an."-
twentieth centuries, women began rto find
ways of expressing themselves within the
context of the arena; they, became
cheerleaders ! Thus the degeneration of
warrior /priest into athlete and t v e
priestess into cheerleader has bei...
The cheers used are analogous to the
spells and prayers chanted in support of
the hunters/team, while their uniforms
origins as hunter-warriors. An imageX
of masculinity evolved which idealized phy- and routines correspond to the costume
sical qualities and stoicism while rele- and lance elements of ritual.
gating the other traits to women.
Judy Bel field
WHAT THIS AINT
John Q. Public
THINK OF ME
This aint no poem.
Aint no fancy words in my head
so there sure aint gonna be none on this paper
Looks like a poem, though —
that's cause people 're perdictable,
see things that aint really there.
So . . . this might look like something
you think you reckanize
but it aint what you think...
Worry about that.
This aint no monolog neither —
I aint no Johnny Carson
J5.n I aint got no golf club
/an I aint gonna say how cold was it..
You have seen ambers
The clues, the ^ath
To uncover your destiny
But what is the sum of one alone
Who are you without someone
Do you want something— you know ycr
Will you ask — I think not
Gazo into the sun, trigger on your
You're the only ,one that matters
To you- ...
■ ■ ■ e-j - ' - 'i
So what is this?
It sure aint for eyes to read
p.or ears to hear.
Mebbe there's something sneakin through the
some secret somethin slitherin like a sn —
I aint . gonna say it ,
cause you was expectin it —
an one thing I learned early on •
before I could read an write
was things aint never what we think.
An even when they are
it's only cause we think th e;,r are . . .
cause we see things
that aint really there.
So . . . what is this?
Well, it aint no poem.
An .1 could say too
that it aint no chicken
an it aint no tractor.
I could say lotsa aints
but T aint gonna . . .
Don't know why I. get my hopes uj .
It only makes it worse.
The depression of my silent phone
makes me break out in verse.
I write my painful feelings,
My hurt appears in ink.
It takes the worry off my chest
and makes my problems shrink.
TITUS THE TITANIC
Titus, a two-headed reptil 1 ar. beh —
moth, lived with his Mo r - and Dad i i the
middle of Murphy's Marsh on the e-:\::t
edge of Whoopdoop County.
Though his family and friends show-
ered him with love and smothered him wit :
affection, Titus was not happy. !2hifl war
Titus The Titanic, continued
mostly due to one simple, unhappy truth.
Everybody he knew or had ever heard of
was a regular, one-headed, reptilian be-
hemoth. Not an unregular, two-headed, rep-
tilian behemoth, like himself.
"Look on the brighter side," his
Mother was fond of suggesting. "Every-
thing always works out just fine. Be
happy," she told him.
It was true, he subbosed. He had
never met anyone other than himself who
could sing a melody and a harmony at the
same time while in the shower. (Or out of
the shower, for that matter) Or accom-
pany a vocal rendition of 'The Rocky
Road To Dublin' simultaneously on cornet.
Also, he could execute his favorite con-
certo; one of the ones in D Major for
guitar and viola ... or any one of a num-
ber of pieces written for two mandolins —
even when he was home alone.
Nonetheless, as soon as Titus would
cheer his [sagging spirits with the
thought of some advantageous aspect of
possessing a second head, he would be
reminded of some unpleasantness he had
He spent twice the usual tine with
his dental hygienist. "Titus," she
would say, "you are, without question, the
finest first base umpire in Whoopdoop."
Titus would manage a small smile. He
realized she meant well. "You never S uf=
fer stiffness after watching the tennis
championships," She would go on like that,
trying to help him. "Look on the brighter
side," she Would say.
Alas, Titus spent much of his time
dreaming an impossible dream. He dreamed
that: a}one of his heads would fall,
"\ or b) a substantial percentage of the
population would sprout a second head.
Oh how miserable Titus felt. He
longed to be something he was not.
Sometimes, when he thought of one of
his heads falling off, he would argue
loudly with himself about which head
should go. Once, an argument got so out
of hand, Titus had to be resuscitated
x after he throttled himself unconscious.
Another time, a well-meaning Uncle
br-oRght TitHs a magazine article that
^old about a scientist who could help
/ troubled beasties. "Maybe he can hero ■
you Titus," said the well-meaning uncle.
_The scientist had ointments and
elix^-rs for Titus to use. The scientist
had a machine for Titus to sit inside.
The machine changed Titus into a different
creature every time he got inside.
But it would not turn Titus into a reg-
ular, one-headed, reptilian behemoth.
Once, Titus emerged from the contraption
with only one head. Unfortunately, it
was attached to two bodies . That was the
last straw. No more scientists. Titus
demanded his money back and went home.
After awhile, Titus decided he
would become an explorer. He felt he was
wasting his time. "I'm tired of wast-
ing my days and nights sitting in front
of the TV," he announced to hiiriself
"Yes. It seems as though I am forever
drinking Kool-Ade and eating tortilla
crisps. I'm going to become an ex-
plorer," he added.
Titus was very pleased with himself.
"I'll wear a uniform!" he said tc him-
self. "Ri^ht. No more arguments over
coVboy hats an3* sneakers , baseboll caps -
or boots," he added gleefully. "My life
will have purpose and direction," he
mused. "I'm so ha-py," he adlo-d.
"I will have to agree with rryself ,
in order to get the job done. Perhaps
I'll meet aliens as strange as me. May-
be stranger," he added.
"Gadzooks!" he exclaimed as he
looked himself square in the eyes.
"I'm agreeing with myself already !"
With that he ran happily off, hugging
and kissing himself, and chatter in~ two
miles a minute.
So Titus got on a spaceship and
blasted off to a life of adventure and
exploration. He travelled hither and
yon. He soon forgot he had ever felt
sad or lonesome or unfulfilled. Pie
became quite famous, and was usually at
home only for seasonal holidays or im-
portant family hooplas. Or to receive
an award. It was on just such an occa-
sion his Mom handed Titus a letter that
had arrived for him months earlier.
Titus read the letter. (He was
used to fan mail by now) The letter
snaelled like lilacs, a favorite with
Titus , and was from some sweet young
reptilian behemoth on the other side of
Whoopdoop. Well, Titus thought, she
sounds real nice. It's obvious she
paid close attention in school. Her
penmanship alone is evidence to that.
Oh, but just wait until she finis "ut
I've got two heads. Ha! She won't know
which fac e to laugh in first. Then Titus
noticed something' else. A picture was
peeking out of the envelope. Golly,
she sure is purty, thought Titus as he
pulled the picture out for a better
look. Titus could not belive his four
eyeballs! Not just another pretty face.
No sir~ee Bob ! Bubbling borscht buck-
ets if it wasn't TWO pretty faces! She
was a girlie two-headed reptilian behe-
Titus charged into the house,
scooped up his Mom and Dad and be.-en
dancing around the room with the two of
then, jumping and hollering, kissing ther
both at the same time. "Call the preach-
er, I'm in love! I'm going to the .'other
side of Whoopdoop to collect the girl
of my dreams*" Then he was gone like a
shot. Catching -their .breath, hie bewild-
ered parents saw the picture fl -ting
to the floor amid the whirlwind left
in the wake of their jubilant child.
Titus The Titanic, continual
They smiled, they kissed, they told that happiness would cone to her baby,
one another how happy they were for each She remembered how she whispered to
other and for their Titus. Baby Titus over and over again as she
Titus's Mom got dreany-eyed and remen- rocked him in her loving arms: "B 't
bered long, long ago, when Titus was a worry little darling, everything alvays
tiny baby. How she had prayed and prayed works out just fine. Always."
LIFE IN A GLASS
LIFE CM BE LIKENED TO A GARMENT
Of time we see our present
Filtering through a glass to the past
But from there where do we gol
Are we just destined to be turned endless-
God cuts the pattern pieces and places
them in our hands. His wisdom an^.
grace helps us select the material. It
is up to us to do the basting, fitting,
and to try to sew good, strong, straight
Our sands to be forever mixing and mingling? seams. We apply the finishing t?uches
It almost seemes inevit" 1 ^'-*-'--
Our sands get mixed and forget their
\ They don't realize all that's happened,
during their churning experiences.
They can only see the present
N and from experience, see what their future
\ destination is to be.
They forget their past—
The knowledge of it happening is with them;
but does it really inhabit their memories?
All the affection they've felt is gone;
but does the remembrance still linger on?
Then one day their emotions take hold
All their feelings cone into view.
Some even hand out their feelings.
Others get involved with our sands.
Some may question us;
Some nay ask us to question ourselves.
But none are corrupt —unless we let then.
If our sands take the endless turning in
•and allow feelings to freely flow in and out,
and don't allow the forever churning to
.^et in their wav —
You glass will always be there.
It will serve as protector, shield and
but will it not stair 1 , in the_vay if the
s and ' s expan s i on ?
On che other hanl —
If your sands have a problem accepting the
and can't allow feelings to flow the
least bit freely,
and their forever churning becomes an
tour glass will always be there.
It will serve as opponent , deceiver and
and hold up the completed garment for
God ' s approval .
The world will judge quickly what they
see with the naked eye, but only God
knows what our darts and tucks conceal
and how many seams have been ripped
apart to be resewn. May we ask a bless-
ing for those who never got past the
basting stage, but only their pattern
pieces remain to acknowledge the world
that they were here.
The material is the quality of our pa-
rents. The basti.ig is our environment
and childhood. The fitting is our
puberty and experiences of adjust 'ag to
life. The seams are our decisions and
deeds in adulthood. The finishing
touches are righted wrongs with God's
I want my Ju^ie for Christmas.
There's nothing I want more.
Having her back in my life again
Would make my spirits soar.
Cause I'm really lonely without her.
And lately I've been pretty down.
I'd really enjoy this Christmas time
If I could just have her around.
So c'mon, Santa, please have a heart —
After all, it's the time of good will!!
Tell me you'll bring me my Julie back!
Please, Santa, please say you will!
y\ An obstacle, will be the glass,
'that will take pain and time to cut through. This isn't some brainstorm out of the
At the end of the hour, the sands, blue.
the last lingering ones, I've wished it for quite some time.
trickle slwoly, patiently, tranquil Baby-dolls aren't reserved for the kids!
to their destination. Please won't you bring ne back mi^e.'!
Than at some time, somewhere,
the glass is again turned and the sands aflaixi ********
be^in their chnnnin.cr rotation for on " t 'i- r hour.
BABY LOOK INTO MY EYES
DO YOU REMEMBER WHEN WE WERE TOGET'^P
Baby, look into my eyes
And maybe then you'll realize
That there'll never be another place or
Where you'll find a love so true as n^ne,
I know I'm young, "but not so naive
What I'm saying you must believe
Age is only a state of mind
And years from now you will find
That my love remains constant and true
My heart will always belong to you.
There's this dude
And one day
He walks in his house .
He sees his
Walks up to him r
But he just
Figures he's too
To talk about it
He sits down
To tell him
What ' s
On the shoulder.
"What are you doing here Grandmother?
"So are you," she tells "him.
How we were a sky?
How we loved the stars
And the moon so high?
We were a love song?
A beautiful hymn, with
Romantic lines and ohrases within?
were together as one?
A carefree part full of
laughter and fun?
We not sunshine?
were we not love, that lived
under colors of rainbows above?
To live, to love, to be free,-
When I had you and you had me,
To enjoy each other forever and over.
Do you remember when we were together?
Oh my restless lover
Whispering softly in my ear
Wandering mind so far away
What is it that you fear?
Restless breath upon my lips
Keep stirring me inside
Restless hands caressing me
What have they ?.~ne to hide?
Oh my restless lover
You'll leavs me s^~n I know
So pack my heart and soul once more
Just take my love and go
Oh my restless lover
Search this world I pray
And when you find your peace of mind
Come back to me and stay
We came into the world in unison,
an accident in nature.
We communicate, but we don't
Everyday of my life has been
spent looking into a mirror.
I can't imagine my life
without you, my shadow.
WALK WITH ME
Walk with ne
into the cool night
where the nusic
always plays and
journeys through light & vision &
the "beginnings of creation.
You and I are the soul of the past
You are the inage
I an the thought.
We fall deeper & deeper —
If only we could touch.
When two are one and one
When physical ■
When two are one
Plello happiness! Where are you?
Junp down here and stay awhile.
Forget vhire I live?
Can't find ny address?
Take off your shoes.
Relax and recline.
Find a spot for your coat.
Park for a while.
It's tine for sone joy.
You'll find me hone.
Hello Happiness ! Where are you?
Jurrp down here and stay awhile.
I LIKE TO THINK OF -MYSELF
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